In America
My heartstrings were extremely sore after being plucked so viciously for the two-hour running time of “In America.” I have nothing against tragedy, emotion or even sentimentality in movies; but I think they have to earn it.
You have to get to know characters first, to understand how and why these bad things are happening to them, before you can care enough not to feel manipulated. “In America” starts right in with the down-on-their-luck Irish family whose young son had fallen down the stairs and died, and goes hurtling along from there. You can’t catch your breath between dewy shots of the (admittedly incredibly cute) young daughters, the long-suffering mother, and the tortured father. Throw in the strange-yet-cuddly giant black neighbor, a preemie birth, ridicule over homemade Halloween costumes, and an ice cream parlor full of transvestites, and you have a recipe for weepy disaster, as far as I’m concerned.
If this movie had just dialed back the tears several notches, the expressive acting and story possibilities might have come forward. As it was, not so much.
ah, if only all movies were as understated as the station agent.
Emotions are for ethnic people.
And just what the hell is wrong with homemade Halloween costumes, anyway? I’m not aiming this at you, but at the movie. Walgreens costumes are for the masses with no imagination.
Lisa: I agree. Homemade costumes are best. It was another example of how I thought the movie was unfairly and ham-handedly going for the emotions.